


A Long Way From Home

by enigmaticagentscully



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Varric:</strong> “The Waking Sea. Somewhere across all that water is Kirkwall.”<br/><strong>Cassandra:</strong> “It was a long journey to Haven.”<br/><strong>Varric:</strong> “Considering the company, I'm surprised it didn't feel longer.”<br/>-	Dragon Age Inquisition dialogue, The Storm Coast</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

_Daisy – you made me promise to write so I’m writing, even though we’re only a day out of Kirkwall. Sorry if this is a bit blotted, writing on board ship is harder than you’d think. It’s not a bad ship though, from what I can tell; some kind of merchant vessel made for moving fast so the food doesn’t spoil by the time it arrives. Not that we’re carrying much food now of course, just a bunch of nervous soldiers, a permanently angry Seeker of Truth, a mysterious Orlesian spymaster and one dwarf in way over his head. How’s that for an opening? Too dramatic? I guess if I was writing this as a story, I shouldn’t start it with just me in a quiet corner of the galley surrounded by onions and trying to write up against the wall because there isn’t a decent desk on board. I should have started at the docks, setting the scene and introducing the characters in amongst all the hustle and bustle there. When the hero sets out on a long journey, you need a little taste of home first off to show what he’s going to be missing. But the Kirkwall docks aren’t the most exotic of places, and anyway, you know all about that part. You were there, after all._

Even the most devoted resident of the fine city of Kirkwall would have to admit that their docks were not the most attractive in the world. While other docks might be said to be filled with the vibrant commotion of commerce, the chatter of a thousand tongues freely mixing, the wafting scent of rare spices from across the seas, romantic tales of faraway lands on the lips of the sailors...the same could not be said for Kirkwall. The only scent in the Kirkwall docks was the pervasive stench of cabbages and dead fish. There was certainly a fair amount of chatter, but most of it wouldn’t be repeatable in polite society, and the only romantic tales to be heard from the sailors were of The Blooming Rose, the best brothel for miles, or so it was said. ‘Romantic’ was probably stretching the case a little too. On a day like today, when a grim pre-dawn drizzle was drenching dockhands, turning the decks slippery and spoiling cargoes, and the only news was of war and turmoil, the Kirkwall docks were unlikely to make a list of top holiday destinations in Thedas.

Varric surveyed the scene with a sentimental air. He was sheltering under the overhanging eaves of a tavern, trying to stay as dry as possible while he waited for the Seeker to return. He would rather have waited _inside_ the tavern – the place was an overpriced dump, as most dockside taverns were, but it was better than nothing – but that had not been allowed. He was to stay put. The Seeker had been most emphatic on that point. And to ensure that he did so, there were two soldiers standing nearby, watching him with the sort of glum inattentiveness of those who had been given the least important job, and knew it. Still, he didn’t much fancy his chances if he did try to run for it, and he had no intention of attempting such a thing anyway. He had some pride, after all. Well, if this was to be his last look at Kirkwall for a long time, he would drink it all in, cabbage smell included. He was just wondering whether he could at least persuade the poor soldiers to stand under the eaves with him instead of out in the rain – terrible what formal training and misplaced pride will do to a man – when a familiar voice made him freeze in place.

“Varric! There you are, I thought I’d missed you!”

Merrill came hurrying across the slippery cobbles to meet him, beaming widely. “Oh I’m so glad, I didn’t know when you left, your message was so vague. Isn’t it a horrible day? I do hope that doesn’t mean the sea is going to be all choppy for you the whole way.”

Varric sighed and glanced at the soldiers, who were looking at Merrill with vague interest but didn’t seem to object to her presence. Not yet at least.

“Daisy, what are you doing here?” he said, trying not to sound to exasperated. “I thought you would be in the alienage. You know...” he said, waggling his eyebrows significantly, “...somewhere safe. Somewhere _away from here?_ ”

Merrill peered at him. “Is there something wrong with your face Varric? I wanted to see you off, of course. You’ll write to me, won’t you? You said you were going away for a long time and now with Isabela gone and Hawke too, sometimes it feels like there’s hardly anyone left!”

Varric glanced again at the soldiers, who had definitely perked up at the mention of Hawke. Shit.

“Well I appreciate the thought Daisy, but you’d better—”

He was cut off by another yell of “Varric!” though in more strident tones this time. He groaned under his breath. In only a few days he had unfortunately become very familiar with the voice that always managed to spit out his name like it was an unpleasant swear word. The Seeker was striding towards them with a face like thunder. Where Merrill had weaved through the crowds of damp dockworkers, Cassandra Pentaghast simply walked in a straight line, confident in the knowledge that other people would get out her way. They did too. Several heads turned towards her as she passed, but she paid them no mind. The two soldiers snapped to attention as she approached and she nodded at them briefly in greeting before addressing them.

“The ship is called the _Parasini_ , please inform the others that we leave within the hour.”

The soldiers walked off smartly, hopefully to somewhere more dry, and Cassandra turned back to Varric with a businesslike air.

“What belongings you are bringing with you have already been put aboard,” she said. “We should arrive in Amaranthine in a little over a week. I trust you have completed any business you have here? You will not be returning for quite some time.”

Varric felt a small pang at that, but he’d be damned if he’d show it now. Besides, he had other things to worry about at present. “Ready when you are Seeker,” he grinned.

“Oh, you’re the Seeker everyone’s been talking about!” said Merrill cheerfully, and then froze in place, looking horrified.

Cassandra glanced at her and frowned. “Who is this?” she said to Varric. “We don’t have time for goodbyes. We are late as it is.”

“Oh I’m, um, no-one really!” said Merrill hastily. “Just a friend. An acquaintance really, you know, we’ve actually only just met.” She was trying her best to hide her staff behind her back, with admittedly limited success, since the thing was a good two feet taller than she was. Cassandra wasn’t actually paying her much attention, and they might actually have gotten away with the whole thing if Merrill hadn’t then continued babbling as she backed away slowly:

“Anyway I must be going, I’ve er...um, lots to do in the alienage. Always lots to do now what with everything going on, and it is really my home of course now, not that it wasn’t before but now more than ever since I...well of course you wouldn’t care about that so I should just be on my way...”

Cassandra stared at her, a not uncommon reaction upon hearing one of Merrill’s extended rambles for the first time. “Wait a minute,” she said slowly. “You’re Merrill, are you not? The elven mage?”

“Mage? Me? Nooo, no this is a...a walking stick. I’ve got a rare bone condition.” Merrill laughed nervously, and Varric strenuously resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. He risked a sideways glance at the Seeker, who to his relief looked more intrigued than angry.

“You don’t look like how I imagined you,” she said, seemingly half to herself. “I thought you’d be shorter.”

Merrill looked baffled. “Um...I’m sorry?” she said.

Cassandra was now regarding her appraisingly. “So, you were one of Hawke’s associates,” she said, although it was clear it wasn’t really a question. The atmosphere noticeably tensed.

“I’m a friend of the Champion, yes,” said Merrill, with a touch of nervous pride.

“Do you know where Hawke is?”

“No,” said Merrill.

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“No,” said Merrill, sticking her chin out defiantly, her voice only slightly squeakier than usual. There was a terrible pause, the kind of sharp intense silence you got when a group of gamblers play Wicked Grace and an extra card slides out of someone’s sleeve. It was the kind of silence that waited to be split by the drawing of a blade.

Finally, the Seeker exhaled a sharp impatient breath and gave a curt nod. “Very well. We cannot waste more time here. The Conclave is in less than a month. Dwarf, come with me.”

Thanking every god in the heavens, elven and human, Varric followed her without complaint. They had only gone a few steps when Cassandra suddenly turned back to glance over her shoulder at Merrill, who started guiltily.

“I would advise going to visit friends outside the city, if you can,” said Cassandra. “It is not a safe time to be an apostate mage in Kirkwall.” And with that she turned and strode away, Varric nearly jogging to keep up, so surprised that he didn’t realise he hadn’t said goodbye until it was too late.

_Good thing we were all in such a rush to leave, or you might have been in a whole lot of trouble there Daisy. Please try to be more careful, now more than ever. Sorry I didn’t tell you when I was leaving, I honestly didn’t expect it to be so soon. I’ve never seen someone book passage so quickly, and for a group of armed religious zealots too. The Seeker is certainly efficient._

That was an understatement. From what he could gather, the woman had alternately bribed, bullied and persuaded until she and her soldiers had secured passage on the fastest ship in dock. The group Varric had privately come to think of as ‘the Divine flunkies’ had arrived in Kirkwall over land and had no ship of their own – poor planning on their part, he thought, but didn’t voice it out loud. He was probably in enough trouble as it was, and there was a palpable tension in the company that he knew had nothing to do with his presence. This Conclave thing was clearly a big deal, and if they didn’t make good enough time, they’d miss it altogether. A chance for peace between mages and templars; a meeting on neutral ground between the leaders of each side with Divine Justinia mediating between them. Divine Justinia who he was apparently being dragged halfway across the world to meet, so she could hear first-hand how this had all began. That was the official story anyway, Varric half suspected this whole thing was just spite on the Seeker’s part for not telling her where Hawke was.

_I’ve gotten some funny looks from the sailors though, since I’m clearly not one of the Cassandra’s people, but I’m not tied up in the hold being fed bread and water either. They don’t know how to treat me, I think, and everyone is wary of the Seeker’s wrath, so mostly they stay out of my way. The soldiers keep to themselves too; they’re all as twitchy as cats in a kennel about where we’re headed but they’re obviously loyal to their cause and won’t give me so much as the time of day. All in all I feel a bit like a stowaway who’s been discovered when it’s too late to turn back and so everyone pretends doesn’t exist. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I’m here myself. Bet you never thought I’d be going to meet with the Divine of all people, right? I knew my unrivalled skill as a master of storytelling would get me into trouble one day. More trouble than usual, I mean._

Varric sighed and lowered down his pen. The swell of the waves had noticeably increased since he began and his letter had become less and less legible towards the end. Still, Merrill’s handwriting usually looked as if a spider had stepped in an inkpot and crawled across the page, so she’d probably be fine at figuring out his. He idly picked up the apple he’d been saving for later and took a bite. It hadn’t taken long to work out that the galley was easily the best place on the ship for him to hang around; the cook was friendly enough and took no notice of him as long as he stayed out of the way, and there was something comforting about being surrounded by food. He wasn’t really an outdoorsy person, but right now it was nice to be reminded that somewhere out there was real solid dry land in which things like onions were grown. There was something unnerving about looking in every direction and seeing nothing but water. He allowed himself another heartfelt sigh, since there was no-one around to hear, and propped the letter up against the wall again to finish it off in a hasty scrawl.

_I’ll write again as soon as I have anything to tell you, but it won’t be until we reach land that I’ll even be able to send this. Stay safe._

_Varric_


	2. Day Three

_Daisy – I never thought I’d say this, but you and the Seeker have something in common. Cassandra Pentaghast does not travel well. I think she hates the sea as much as you do._

Actually, thought Varric sourly, that wasn’t really surprising. If you travelled Thedas for many decades it might be possible that somewhere, at some point you could come across a single thing that Seeker Pentaghast did _not_ hate with a burning passion. She seemed to have a serious grudge against the world and everything in it. In this case though, it might actually be that the sea hated _her_ more than she hated it. Under normal circumstances Varric would have been sympathetic; sea-sickness was a horrible thing and he wasn’t usually the type to gain satisfaction from another’s suffering...but for the Seeker he would make a _special_ exception. He hadn’t actually seen her throw up yet – pride, he suspected – but she’d been looking pale and miserable for days. Well, pale and angry, anyway, which is probably as close as she got. Actually it was somewhat reassuring, in a weird way. It brought her down off that pedestal a little; Varric had done as much research on his gaoler as he could get away with under the circumstances, and she was such a sodding paragon, the Seeker, with her strength and courage and beauty and noble birth. So it was oddly comforting that she also had a complete lack of what the sailors referred to as ‘sea legs’. Although thinking about Cassandra’s legs in any context was probably enough to get you clapped in irons, because she also had a complete lack of patience and the temper of a blight-struck bear. What a wonderful travelling companion. Leliana seemed more the reasonable sort, but he didn’t know nearly as much about her, and that was kind of worrying. Something to work on perhaps.

_I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m writing a second letter before the first can even be sent, and to be honest it’s because I haven’t got much else to do. Not much call for a dwarf on board ship, even if I did know what the hell I was doing. There seems to be a lot of hauling on ropes involved. Still, it’s all good background stuff if I ever wanted to set a novel at sea, and I bet Isabela would love that, if only for how she could poke fun at all the things I get wrong._

Varric felt an unexpected pang as he wrote that. Isabela was probably out there somewhere now on the same sea as he was. He hadn't seen her in a long time, longer even than Hawke.

_Perhaps she’ll rescue me – swashbuckle up in her own ship and whisk me away from irritable Seekers and terrible food and long journeys. Well, perhaps ‘rescue’ is too strong a word. I’m not a prisoner **exactly**. I’m just not allowed to leave. Not really sure what would happen if I tried to (although right now I’d get pretty wet) but I guess it probably isn’t a good idea to find out. Anyway, the writer in me wants to know how this all ends._

That was true enough at least, even if he wasn’t quite as optimistic as his tone suggested. After what had happened in Kirkwall he hadn’t got much faith in this Conclave business. People from both sides of a bloody war sprung from centuries of resentment, getting together to talk it out and find a peaceful solution. It struck him as the sort of thing Aveline would approve of; reasonable and constructive and completely unrealistic when you added actual people into the mix. Still, the Seeker didn't exactly strike him as a wide-eyed optimist, so maybe there was more chance then he was giving the idea credit for.

The thought of the Conclave reminded Varric of the long journey still ahead of him, and suddenly he felt unusually restless. Perhaps he wasn’t exactly a prisoner, but deprived of friendly company and anything to actually _do_ , and this ship was as good a prison as anything. However light his tone when he wrote, the feeling of being useless was starting to grate on him. You could only spend so much time writing, after all. Seeing that the light streaming through the porthole had turned a deep orange colour, he realised it must be just about sunset. Which was also the time the ship’s cook usually started preparing something to eat for those coming off afternoon shifts (or whatever it was sailors had) and Varric had learnt to get out of the way if he didn’t want to spend an hour or so peeling potatoes. It wasn't a matter of pride; he just wasn't very _good_ at it.

So he hopped off the low stool in the corner he had taken to sitting on to write, and headed out of the galley with the vague intention of taking a walk around the ship before getting an early night. It took him a while to get to sleep these days anyway. Up on deck the crewmen he ran into gave him friendly enough nods of greeting, but were clearly busy, and when he passed a group of the Seeker’s soldiers playing cards they watched him warily until he was out of sight. So even with the sea relatively calm and the setting sun turning the sky golden, Varric was feeling rather glum when he unexpectedly came across Cassandra Pentaghast herself near the end of the ship, leaning against the railing and staring out to sea.

“Enjoying the sea air, Seeker?” he said, by way of greeting.

She shot him a vaguely irritated look, but seemed to decide not to bother with a retort. For some reason that slightly annoyed him – after dragging him along she could at least have the decency to acknowledge his existence – so instead of continuing on his wander he sat down on a crate nearby.

“I get the impression you’re not a fan of boats,” he said.

“This is a ship, Varric, not a boat,” she replied curtly. “And no, I am not.” She hadn't taken her eyes off the horizon, and Varric wondered if it was because she was trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible, or that staring out to a distant point helped accustom oneself to the movement of a ship. He was sure he’d heard that somewhere.

“Well we can’t all be born sailors,” he said.

It was difficult to tell over the noise of the waves, but he thought she sighed. “It is not just the...physical experience I find discomfiting,” she said. “I dislike being idle. All this waiting around...” she trailed off, and Varric was silent for a while, surprised at her frankness and at the fact that he had just been thinking the same thing not so long ago. It occurred to him that the Seeker could hardly play cards with the soldiers either.

“I suppose you have been writing to pass the time,” she said, breaking the silence. Well, the surprises just kept coming. She was actually attempting a civil conversation with him. She _must_ be desperate.

“Yeah,” he said, and then feeling that something more was needed; “Mostly letters though, or business stuff. My supply of paper is kind of limited.”

“Still, you are fortunate to have a distraction.”

“I don’t know Seeker, you could always read.” He’d meant it to be vaguely irreverent, but it was a surprise when her reaction was to suddenly stiffen, her head whipping around to glare at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked sharply.

“Um...that reading is as good way to pass the time as any?” replied Varric, nonplussed. “Books can be good for things other than stabbing, you know. I don’t know if the crew would have any, but I’ve got a couple with me.”

“Oh.” She seemed to relax. What the hell was that all about? Did she have such a terrible aversion to the written word? Varric decided to change the subject.

“So do you think we’ll make it to this Conclave in time?” he asked. But whatever brief fellow feeling had sprung up between them seemed to have dissipated, and Cassandra merely frowned and said ‘We will,” in a voice that didn’t really invite further discussion. She turned back to stare out to sea again, where the sun had slipped below the horizon and the first few stars were starting to appear in the navy sky. Varric watched her back for a while, and then got up from his crate and headed back towards the cabin where he had been sleeping. She didn't give any indication of noticing his departure. He didn't really know what he had expected.

_This is supposed to be the easy part of the journey, and I guess it could be a lot worse, but so far I find the worst part about travelling is not knowing what’s going on in the places you leave behind. It’s only been a few days and I already feel out of touch with the rest of the world. Still, never let it be said that I don’t make the most of every opportunity. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see if I can get someone to explain to me what ‘splice the mainbrace’ means. I always meant to ask Isabela and I never did get around to it._

_Love,_

_Varric_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having major writers block recently, and this fic seems to be the only thing I can make any headway on :/
> 
> also I keep breaking off to draw stuff instead, so there's that

**Author's Note:**

> The distances and time it takes to travel between places in Thedas are...up for debate. And that’s putting it lightly, because if you google this sort of a thing there are a lot of people with VERY STRONG OPINIONS on the subject, my goodness me. I was going to put my reasoning for what I've decided on for this story down here, but then I realised...no-one cares!
> 
> (by the way, this is obviously a multi-chapter fic, so if anyone reading my other Cass/Varric fic 'I'm Not Calling You A Ghost' is worried I've abandoned it in favour of this one, fear not! I just heard this dialogue and suddenly had to write it. Both fics will continue updating on as regular a basis as I can manage)
> 
> Comments, as ever, are very much welcome :)


End file.
